A History of Rights and Wrongs
by ZeDancingHobbit
Summary: A history of a few of the wrong, and right, deeds done by Daegal. He wishes there were more. One-shot.


**Hey all! **

**This is my first Merlin fic. It's a bit out of comfort zone, but when I watched the Hollow Queen, it absolutely broke my heart at the end. D: But it was so perfect that I had to write about Daegal. He's such an interesting and dynamic character. I just hope I do him a minimum amount of justice. Enjoy! **

The first time Daegal did something good was when he was three years old.

His mother, a cheerful, plump, brunette woman, with eyes that looked like freshly turned soil in the spring, and a soil that could melt snow off the branches in the dead of winter, had invited a friend over for the day, to sew and laugh and gossip for a while. Consequently, Daegal found himself watching a chubby, 2 and a half year old baby girl, with ringlets bouncing on her head and a laugh like a chirp of a bird, playing on his floor. She giggled and cooed, watching him just as much as he watched her. Though it was outside, where it was bright and sunny and warm, his cold expression might have brought about rainy clouds if he kept it up long enough. Though he lived in a poor, thatched house, he was a complete opposite to his surroundings.

"Go play with her, love," his mother whispered, gently patting his back and pushing him from behind her legs.

"I don't wanna, mum," he complained, placing his finger in his mouth and biting the tip of it softly, in a shy fashion.

"I don't care," she replied, "go play. Come on. You can show her your castle in the back. Maybe she could be your queen."

"Eew!" he gagged, staring up at his mother with an abhorred expression.

His mother simply gave one of her cheery laughs and nudged him forward again, prompting him to take a few steps until he was about a foot away from the child.

"Hi," he whispered, not taking the finger from his mouth. "M'Daegal."

"M'Allain," the girl, hardly more than a baby replied. "You go' a casew?"

Daegal sighed and sent a glare shooting at his mother. She smiled at him encouragingly and continued talking to her friend, motioning her inside and leaving the two hapless children outdoors. "Yes," he huffed, "but only knights can go inside."

"Why?"

"Because," he snapped, "only brave boys can go in!"

"Why?"

Why wouldn't the little girl understand the concept of complete and total discrimination of the fragile female sex? "Because!" he nearly shouted, fists curling into balls of frustration at his side, "that's what happens! You…you…" he wracked his mind to find a suitable excuse to keep her out of his treasured castle, made of nothing more than a few logs, stick, and the straw of hay. "You have to fight me first!"

"Weally?" the girl asked, apparently intrigued by the idea. "Otay."

Daegal stepped backwards, physically moved by the preposterous notion. "Y-you want to…?" the small boy babbled. No-one had ever offered to fight him before, especially not a girl. "W-well, I, I guess," he stammered out, coming close to her and putting up his fists. She didn't respond to his actions, just looked at him with her giant owl-eyes. "Well, come on! Hit me!"

Allain raised her eyebrows and stepped forward, swinging her arm to slap him when he brought his own up to brush the chubby appendages away, then swoop in and lightly bat the girl on her sizable cheek. Hey eyes popped open and she fell backwards, falling on her bottom in the dirt. Her mouth opened in a sizeable 'O' shape before she dissolved into tears, large fat ones that rolled down her cheek and landed in the dirt with a 'plop'.

"Shh!" Daegal hissed, holding his index finger in front of his mouth in an attempt to keep himself from getting in trouble with his mother. This only caused the toddler to wail all the louder, making him wince in pain. He groaned in frustration, holding the sides of his head to avail himself of the agony of having his eardrums popped. Searching side to side, his eyes alighted on an object about 6 feet away from himself. "Wait a moment," he ordered, then ran towards the small thing. Bending down, he plucked the small blue cornflower from the ground and raced back towards the crying Allain.

"Here you go," he told her, squatting down so he was at her level. "See? Stop crying and I'll give it to you." But the bargain was unneeded, for the crying child had already begun to quiet down. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of the small plant, and he smiled. "See?" He held it closer to her face, allowing Allain to marvel at its delicate blue petals softly waving in the wind. "See? It matches your eyes," he stated, brushing some of the downy curls away from the giant orbs.

She giggled and gently touched the soft petal. "Can you put 't in my haiw?" she inquired, brushing aside the said article to expose a grimy ear.

"Uh…okay…" he answered, gently tucking the slightly crumpled stem behind the appendage. "Looks pretty," he commented, choosing to look past the dirt and mud. Swiping his thumbs across Allain's cheeks, he wiped away the tear tracks, smearing grime further across her skin but getting rid of the lines left by the liquid. "There, see? All better." He flashed a smile, showing his pearly white teeth, before sighing slightly. "…Would you like to come into my castle with me?"

Allain's eyes grew wide as she whispered, "Can I?"

"Sure. And," he hesitated slightly before finishing his sentence, "you can be my queen."

Allain's eyes grew even wider, if that was possible. "Weally?" she whispered, as if she was afraid it was a dream.

"'Course." And with that, he led her to the shambled castle. And, he thought to himself, as he protected her from the great dragon, it felt pretty good.

The first time Daegal did something bad, really bad, was when he was eight years old.

It had been a normal day, a normal week, a normal month. The nasty King Uther had not found out that his mother was a possessor of magic, and Daegal had been careful to keep the secret under wraps. Thus far, all had been safe, though all the same, his mother kept mostly indoors under the pretext of a cold. None of the neighbors believed her, of course. Many of men and women with similar powers kept indoors under similar 'circumstances'. And so, they hid and wept and prayed that no-one found her out.

That night, when Daegal was eight and a half years old, he was attempting to go to sleep in bed, though the night played tricks on his eyes and ears, and a few times he thought he swore someone banging on the door. And each time, the dark swept back away into his imagination and he continued tossing and turning. His mother, across the room, managed a smile and began humming a well-known lullaby to herself, loud enough for him to hear. It was comforting, and, just as he was drifting off to the land of sleep, a very real and very loud thumping was heard on the door, and a shouting of, "Open up in the name of the king!"

His mother's eyes grew wide with fear and she shrank back into her chair, bundling up her knitting into her lap. "Daegal, come here," she whispered, as Daegal scrambled upwards and ran to her. She hushed his fearful tears and pressed a kiss onto his forehead as his father answered the door. It slammed open and let about 5 guards pour through, stamping mud all over the floor and mussing the threadbare carpet.

"Where is the one called Wynllian?" the head guard snapped, taking a piece of parchment from his chain mail.

"I…I am here," she stated quietly, causing the guards to snap their heads around in her direction. Daegal let loose a whimper of fear and curled closer into her warm bosom as two crossed over to the woman and dumped him out of her lap.

"Wynllian, you are hereby charged with the crime of sorcery. As stated by King Uther Pendragon, ruler of Camelot, this charge amounts to the that of treason. You shall be held in a cell until your trial at noon tomorrow." He rolled the parchment up and placed it back into his tunic, then jerked his head towards the door. "Take her away." They dragged her, struggling and sobbing out the door, Daegal's father fighting and yelling. Daegal cried in the corner, clutching his blanket and squeezing his eyes shut, praying for the ordeal to be only a nightmare. But when he opened his eyes, he could still hear shouts and screams in the night.

The trial was a farce. Even he, an eight year old, could tell that. The king brushed aside any evidence to the fact that she might not have magic, and quickly ruled death by beheading. Daegal's father shouted and wept, pleading for mercy, but the hardhearted king disregarded him. Wynllian would be dead by the end of the hour.

Daegal was there as she was paraded before the crowd, the silent crowd. They watched as she was forced to climb the steps to the platform and forced to kneel before the executioner. When the man raised his axe before his sobbing mother's head, Daegal was struck with a very real terror.

"MUM!" he screamed out and tore free of his father's arm. He ran up to the nearest guard. He punched him as hard as he could in a very weak place, bringing the man to his knees, and tore a dagger free from his belt. With a savage war cry, he climbed the steep stairs with difficulty, soldiers chasing him, and swiped the sharp blade across the burly man's leg. The axeman gave a roar of pain and grabbed Daegal by the collar.

"Mum!" he screamed again, reaching for his mother as she twisted her head around to look at him and stretched her bound hands out towards him. "I love you," she sobbed as Daegal was pushed down the wooden steps. He fell to the ground, making his bottom smart in pain. It was nothing, however, compared to the pain he felt in his heart. He was hauled to his feet roughly, tears streaming down his face, and held fast while the executioner, only slightly bleeding from the shallow cut on his thigh, raised the axe over his head and the drums sounded. Something within him prompted him to open his eyes, however, as the axe was brought down upon the willowy neck of his precious mother. He screamed out incoherents at the knights, at the king, and the whole kingdom. Finally, as her head was bundled into a blanket and tossed into a cart, he was thrust away, given a swift kick on his bottom. His father grabbed his hand and dragged him away. However, before he left the square, Daegal let loose a savage roar of, "I HATE THE KING! DEATH TO THE KING!"

His father slammed a hand over his mouth and practically carried the crying child away. He was only grateful that no-one had thought to punish the small boy, and he transported him swiftly as possible back to their small house.

That day, Daegal did something bad. And it felt so horrible, yet so good at the same time, that he didn't stop for a very long time.

The last time Daegal did something bad was what he was fourteen years old.

His father, in the years since his mother's death, while still a good man, had taken to drink more often than he should have, in order to dull the pain of losing his wife. As a result, oftentimes his paycheck would be mostly drained by strong drink, and they would have no food. Daegal spent much of his childhood with a growling and empty stomach.

Because of this, he leapt at the chance to earn a few coins when Morgana offered it to him. He hadn't been searching for her. In fact, he had been slumped against the wall of a house in the dark, willing the hunger to leave his stomach. She had found him there, a hungry, lost soul, and his desperation had caught her eye, apparently.

"Boy," she had hissed in his direction.

He turned his head languidly to look at her, stomach protesting the movement. "What?" he replied, voice drawling. He might have been more fearful of her, but for the fact that he was so hungry and tired. AS a result, the most he did was move his head.

"You look hungry."

He scoffed under his breath. "Everyone here is," he snapped.

"You look more hungry than most," she amended her statement. "Mother doesn't cook? Father has no money?"

Daegal's eyes darkened, and she laughed slightly. "So that's it, eh? No money, no food? I might have a solution for that." Reaching underneath her cloak, she brought forth a sizable loaf of bread, kept for just a time as this. His eyes grew to the size of saucers at the sight of the mouthwatering sight. She smirked and tossed it to him, enabling him to catch it in his hands. He stuffed it into his mouth, dispatching the dough with speed. In less than a minute it was gone. Morgana's brow raised as he finished off the heel and sighed, brushing the crumbs off his tunic. He raised his eyes to look at her once more.

"What do you want for it?" he questioned, knowing the food was not cheap. And probably more expensive than he could afford.

"Oh, for that? That was just a down payment," Morgana answered. Rummaging beneath her cloak, she pulled forth a small sack of, presumably, coins. In his eyes, it was larger than the king's treasury. "I have a little…job for you. If you want these coins, that is. If not, I'll let someone else have them." She made to turn away, and Daegal scrambled upright. His stomach lurched within him, and he reached out a hand to steady himself against the wall. "I-I'll do it," he told her.

"You don't know what it is yet," she answered, slightly amused.

"I don't care. I'll do it."

Morgana chuckled and came closer. "All I need you to do is get someone for me. That's it."

"Who do you need?" he asked, curiosity piqued.

"Have you ever heard of someone named Merlin?" Her lip curled viciously around the name, and he couldn't help but feel that she harbored a deep hatred for the man.

"Yeah, I think so. Servant of the king, yeah?"

Morgana hummed an affirmative. "Bring him to meet me in the forest in the Valley of the Kings. There is a V in the path once you are through the trees, after a little while. Take him there." She smiled and patted the coins in her hand. "When you do, you'll receive this. Do you understand?"

"Yes, milady," Daegal answered, hardly able to believe his luck. How amazing was this, that he would get a full pouch of coins all to himself simply for delivering a man into the hands of Morgana? Morgana…a sorceress known for her cruelty… who knew what she would do to the man? A faint twinge was felt in the pit of his stomach, but he brushed the guilt aside. It was enough to do so, after a lifetime of doing wrong. Who cared what she did to Merlin? All Daegal cared about was the full feeling in his stomach.

"Meet me in the forest west of Camelot at midnight tonight. The queen will tell you of how to get in, guard changes, where Merlin will be, et cetera. All right?"

Daegal nodded in affirmative.

Morgana smirked once more and reached beneath the folds of her cloak. Daegal's eyebrows shot up in surprise as she tossed him more bread. His hands snaked up and caught it as she told him, "Don't eat it too fast. You'll be sick."

"Yes, milady." He picked off a tiny piece and placed it in his mouth, letting the warm taste sink through his senses. "Thank you. I'll be there."

With a slow smile and a whoosh of her cloak, Morgana was gone, leaving Daegal to wait, albeit impatiently, for midnight.

When he met with Morgana and the queen, he felt that twinge of guilt in his stomach once more. He had no idea why. All those years of stealing, and cheating, and rebelling should have dulled that sense into nothing but a cold, hard block of stone. But that little shiver of uncertainty in his gut turned his attention to the sorceress. "Wh-what will you do to him?" he asked out of the blue, causing the women to whip their heads in his direction, away from their conversation.

"What?"

"What will you do to him? When you've got him, I mean."

"When we have him, then I may tell you. Until then, think of it as a bonus." Morgana patted him on the shoulder and turned away. "Come, Daegal. Tomorrow you bring about a glorious age."

All through the next day, as he mislead and tricked and lied to the manservant following him, the twinge in his gut felt worse and worse and worse. He berated himself all day long, back and forth, back and forth, giving reasons why it was alright one moment and cursing himself the next. As the sun went past and the day wore down, Daegal found himself liking Merlin more and more and hating himself more and more. How could he lead this clumsy, hapless, likeable man to the cruel treatment of Morgana? And yet, the silent jingle of gold and the feeling of an full stomach kept him going, lying and tricking and deceiving.

And he hated himself for it.

The last time Daegal did something good was when he was fourteen years old.

He had spent his entire day deceiving and lying and tricking and misguiding and being horrible to someone he had never met and never would meet again. And yet, as Morgana spilled some poisonous substance into his mouth and pushed him off the cliff, he felt so horrible deep inside that he couldn't stay away. Merlin had come all the way out here to help a small child, bandaged Daegal's wounds, shared his water, and saved his life. The "druid" couldn't just leave him to die. He healed Merlin, came clean, and found himself back on his way to Camelot to save the king. There was no way he was going to leave the bumbling, limping, wounded, still slightly dizzy servant to take down an assassin. It felt good to stay with Merlin. Perhaps the servant's compassionate spirit rubbed off on him. But Daegal, the boy who did wrong, hadn't felt so right in a long, long, time. He never thought that would happen. He only wished his mother could see him now. She always said that he would have adventures. He bet she would never have thought of this one.

His sense of right was vindicated as Merlin praised him for bandaging his knee. His heart thumped with pride at Merlin's kind words, and he promised himself he would do more acts like it. Why had he done so many bad things? They felt nothing like this, with his cheeks flushed and his heart swelling and Merlin's words echoing in his ears. He loved it.

As they raced up the stairs of the castle keep, flying past servants and maids and guards, his heart thudded within his chest, like a drum that would not stop. His blood roared in his ears as they slammed into Arthur's bedchambers, only to find that the king had departed already. Merlin let loose a grunt of anger and whirled about once more, going at a limping run down the hallway. As they turned a corner he fell, and Daegal placed a worried hand on his back to steady him. The manservant snatched a spear from a closet and used it as a handy crutch, supporting himself with it. Daegal was amazed at the man's ingenuity. He wished he could be more like him. He would be, he swore to himself as they took off once more. _When this is all over, I'll be more like Merlin. I'll stop being…bad. And do more good._ Yes. The old Daegal was gone.

As they passed by an open door, Merlin's face grew pale.

"What's wrong?" Daegal asked, foreboding growing within him.

"This should be locked," Merlin murmured, and began climbing the stairs. Daegal followed without thinking, willing to go after the servant anywhere. As they reached the top, Daegal moved in front of Merlin, something within him wanting to protect him in case something was very wrong. He was right. When they burst through the doorway, a man with a crossbow glanced at them with a furious glare and loosed an arrow. Merlin deflected it effortlessly and they turned back towards the man, only for him to loose a barrage of knives in a matter of seconds. Daegal managed to dodge the first few, but just as he thought he might be safe, a thin silver knife flew through the air and slammed into his torso, just below his sternum.

The pain was horrible. He collapsed with a soundless gasp of pain, his skin and muscles and bones and oh hell his whole torso was on fire, hot blood seeping out of the wound and gushing onto his clothes. He heard, rather than saw, Merlin rise up and use the spear in his hand and his magic to finish off the man. From the gasp arising from the crowd, he assumed the arrow unleashed from his crossbow hit someone. This was affirmed when he heard a voice call for someone named Leon. Probably a guard. Through the haze of pain, Daegal was once again amazed at the speed with which Merlin had dispatched the man.

Merlin stood up and stood, overlooking the great room. He probably thought Daegal was a coward, the boy assumed. Just because he hadn't uncurled from his protective position after the attack of the knives. He really wished he could. He just couldn't seem to find the energy. However, the pain was slowly fading into a dull ache, and his breath was growing shorter. It frightened him, and his heart started to race. His breath began to quicken and grow even more irregular than it had been moments before, and he gasped for air.

"We did it," he heard Merlin call softly to him, and he could just imagine the happy grin on the man's face. Somehow, he managed to heave himself upright against the wall, slumped onto it like a drunk. He gave a pained gasp as fire flared up in the wound once more. Oh no. Oh, no no no. this wasn't good. Fear tore its way through his heart, accompanying his pants. He couldn't breath. Why couldn't he breath? And something was going on with his eyes. Everything was blurry. He couldn't see right. _Oh no, oh no no no_, the thought ran through his mind once more as Merlin came over and placed a hand over his own, right next to the blade stuck deep within his flesh. Suddenly, one question became extremely important. He wondered if maybe, perhaps, he hadn't helped save Arthur. Maybe the king was dead. Or maybe he had tried to hinder Merlin. He had tried to murder him before. Oh, gods. What had he done?!

"D-did I save him?" he managed to stammer out. His voice was tight, forced out.

Merlin looked at him sadly before giving a nod and murmuring, "Yeah." But the hesitation before that was too much, and Daegal had to be sure he had done something good. All his life he'd been doing wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong, and for once, he wanted to be sure he'd done something to be proud of. Something right. Something good. "Did I do s-something _good_?"

Merlin gave him a nod of affirmation and pushed a bit harder on the wound, making the pain flare up again. Daegal gave a slight gasp of pain, his chest bouncing up and down with effort. He gave a small smile at the warlock and remarked, "Finally, eh?" He felt another stab of agony and his face contorted into a grimace, his body arching slightly, before it slipped away. But not just the pain slipped away. He felt himself slip away. Almost frantically, he tried to call himself back, tried to hold death at bay, but darkness started creeping in on his vision, and he got so, so sleepy. Slowly, his eyes drooped, and his head started to bow. He felt Merlin's hand on the back of his neck, and he thought to himself through the haze of pain and tiredness and dark, that this was a man he was happy to die with. This was someone who was really, truly good.

And the thought settled in the pit of his stomach and stayed there, creating a warm, amazing feeling even as his breath left and he finally went limp.

He felt amazing.

**Aw, sad endings. :( Please review and give me some amount of feedback, even if it's constructive criticism. Thanks for reading! **


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